


Desire

by hangmanhands



Series: bdsmber prompt fills [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, NSFW, Other, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Teratophilia, Witch!Stiles, base instinct, bdsmber, day 2 - blood, intersex!Stiles, werewolf!ronan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangmanhands/pseuds/hangmanhands
Summary: BDSMber Day 2: Blood. Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle)/Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf) for ectothermal.Ronan knows it's the full moon and he's going to a witch's house, but Stiles is so irresistible, he doesn't give a damn.





	Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ectothermal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectothermal/gifts).



Stiles’ chapstick tastes like coffee, It’s rich and bitter and highlights the natural taste of their mouth and Ronan’s pretty sure Stiles knows that. He’s been stuck thinking about it since they locked themselves in that broom closet and had to be bailed out by the janitor, both satisfied but made spectacle.

That was three months ago.

Ronan’s convinced there’s something in that chapstick of theirs, and he’s also convinced Stiles is a witch. These two thoughts are mostly unrelated. Like, yeah, there was definitely love potion in the chapstick, whatever, but Ronan’s eyes keep finding the lower edge of the skirt of Stiles’ uniform, and that has to be a hex. He’s never even looked at a skirt before.

But, every day, he finds himself dragging Stiles this way or that way, and every day he finds himself with his nose pressed to their throat, mouth on their pulse. Below the collar, Stiles is free real estate, and Ronan is more than happy to invest.

And Ronan, who has taken years to come to terms with a crush, knows that has to be magic, too.

Ronan finds himself in his BMW on his way to the Stilinski house on November 22nd--after a Thanksgiving night consisting of him eating Chinese takeout right out of the box and drinking a whole carton of orange juice alone while Gansey eats a five-course meal with his parents in DC--because he can’t say no to Stiles, not really. Not that he wants to. And, of course, it’s the night of the full moon, This is a stupid idea, even for him. He races cars, drinks inside the town’s Catholic Church in the wee hours of the morning, and spends too much time looking at pretty, pretty boys, but, by God, this is the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

It’s the night of the full moon, and he’s going to a witch’s house. His human brain says danger, but his monster brain says it’s time to mate, and this close to the full moon, he’s almost all monster.

Ronan parks on the side of the road, and walks the rest of the way. He knocks on the door and waits, hoping he’s not at the wrong address, because that would be really embarrassing.

Stiles opens the door in a pink and black striped t-shirt and a pair of dark blue overalls that end just below their hip. Their Keds are white and it takes fifteen seconds of staring at them before Ronan’s gaze returns to Stiles’ eyes. He manages a stunted, “Well, you look nice.”

Stiles brightens visibly, and it’s enough to set Ronan’s stomach rolling over itself. They say, “Thanks! Come in!” and Ronan does. Stiles leads him up some stairs. “I know I said I wanted to bring you over so we could do like homework together, and, uh, maybe other stuff. But,we both know you don’t do the homework unless it’s in Latin, and I know I never intended to do the homework at all, unless that homework is you. Haha.” They pull a ladder down from the second floor ceiling and gesture for Ronan to climb up.

Ronan’s already here, so he says a mental fuck it and starts to climb into the attic.

“So, I guess the first thing I should say is that I’m a witch--”

“Called it.”

“--but we’re not--wait what?”

Ronan hauls himself into the attic and sits cross-legged on the floor. There are shelves of herbs and crystals, an altar, books stacked everywhere, a cauldron, mortar, pestle, vials and bottles, only some of which are full, and enough matches to set the town on fire. Part of the roof has been replaced with glass, presumably to charge crystals and potions with moonlight. The night is clear and the moon lights the whole attic in understated color. In a few minutes, Ronan might be able to read the tarot spread on the altar. He imagines that if Gansey were a witch, his... workshop? Sure, workshop, would be similar. “Called it. I could practically taste it in your chapstick.”

Stiles looks completely lost when their head peeks into the room. “I don’t.... Chapstick? There’s nothing--you know what. Never mind. We’re not here to do magic.” They make a face. “Not really. We’re here because I want to see if I’m right.”

“About?”

Stiles pulls the ladder up after them. “Go sit in the circle for me.”

The circle is painted on the floor underneath the skylights. Ronan knows that this, too, is a bad idea, but if Stiles wanted to kill him for being a werewolf, they could have done it by now. A little silver in their lipgloss or some wolfsbane behind their teeth would have killed him months ago, without the need to drag on a charade of affection any longer than strictly necessary.

Ronan sits in the circle.

Stiles comes to join him, pushing his legs down so they can straddle him. Ronan swallows, but accepts this, setting his hands on their waist. Stiles brings their mouths together and Ronan’s grip turns possessive. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine.

This is, of course, Stiles’ ‘other stuff.’

Ronan feels feral. He turns the position on Stiles, trapping them between floor and chest, turning his body into a cage. By the way Stiles’ lips part, they don’t seem to mind. There’s a series of questioning and affirmative grunts, and then Ronan is desperate to get Stiles’ clothes off while he still has regular human fingers. He can feel his body starting to blur around the edges. The beast inside of him is roaring and wild and ready to be let out. The moon calls to him.

Stiles kicks off their shoes and helps Ronan get rid of their clothes. Ronan’s fingers fumble on Stiles’ bralette because they always fumble on Stiles’ bralette. It’s so cute that Ronan wants to destroy it, but he really shouldn’t do that, so his fingers trip and hesitate until it’s off and gone. Ronan has no such reservations about Stiles’ panties.

They reach up and slide Ronan’s leather jacket off of his shoulders. They whisper, “You, too,” as they lay the jacket on the floor and sink down onto it. It smells like forest and cologne and a little like mint, and Stiles can feel their heartbeat in their cheeks.

It takes Ronan no time to strip out of his shirt, toss his chucks into the far corner of the attic, separate denim and cotton from skin. He settles in the space Stiles makes for him between their legs and catches their lower lip between his teeth. He slides his palms up Stiles’ slender thighs, over their perfect little cock until he hears the hitch of breath that gives Stiles away as losing the little bit of control they have. Their skin is pale and creamy in the moonlight, dark hair and eyes in sharp contrast. Ronan swallows. He’s never looked at someone and wanted to eat them before, but, God, is Stiles one hell of a snack.

Stiles looks up at him and bats their pretty, dark eyelashes. They reach up until they can cup Ronan’s neck in their hands, pressure too heavy to tickle but too light to choke. A tease. Ronan’s world narrows to doe eyes and soft voice when Stiles asks, “Do you want me, Ronan?”

His whole body tenses, animal. “Yes,” he growls, and when he closes his mouth, there’s blood on his lip. Teeth are always the first to go.

Stiles smiles that little imp smile of theirs. “Then take me,” they say, as if it’s that simple.

Ronan lines up and that’s all. He says, “You know what tonight is?”

“Yes.”

“And you know what I am?”

“Yes.”

“So you know what’s going to happen, and you want me to continue?”

“Please, for the love of God, Ronan.”

Ronan presses his mouth to Stiles’ again, careless with his teeth. He sucks the blood off of Stiles’ lip. He takes a moment to line up and slides inside of Stiles with no resistance. They’re as wet as they’ve ever been for him, maybe wetter. Ronan gets a few thrusts in, gets to suck a dark mark into the soft flesh of Stiles’ breast, before the transformation.

The clock strikes 12:39 a.m. on November 23rd.

Before 12:40, it is no longer Ronan as Stiles knows him looming over them, whose cock is inside of them. Next to Stiles’ head is a huge paw, and they look into the face of a wolf. Stiles slides their fingers into the fur under Ronan’s large head. They smile, triumphant. “Wow,” they breathe. “You’re even more handsome than I imagined.”

Ronan lets out a low, pleased bark. He nuzzles against Stiles’ chin as he pushes the larger cock as far inside of them as he’ll go. Stiles’ mouth hangs open as they pant, eyelashes fluttering. A moment later, Ronan finds his rhythm again, thrusting his cock inside of Stiles with desperation. This isn’t a game. The wolf recognizes this little witch as his mate, and so his intentions are clear.

Stiles hangs onto Ronan’s fur with both hands. They press down against Ronan’s cock as best they can, mumbling and whining things like, “Oh, that’s it,” and “Oh, God,” and “Good boy,” and “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy!” They can feel the burn in their thighs from how wide they’re spread to accommodate Ronan. It’s all too much for them, really. They planned this moment, set the pieces in place to get here as soon as they realized what Ronan was, and still. Nothing in any of Stiles’ nasty daydreams, alone with their fingers in their mouth and an unreasonably large toy in their pussy, could have prepared them for this.

Ronan’s claws bite into the flesh of their arm, sharp and heavy. It keeps Stiles still for him. Ronan drags his nose from one of Stiles’ shoulders to the other. It’s all instinct for him now, endorphins and adrenaline and knowledge passed down his father’s DNA into him.

It happens at once: Ronan forces his knot into Stiles and bites down on the junction of their neck and shoulder.

Stiles’ back arches. The pain is as heady as the sensation of Ronan’s cock inside of them. They see stars, howl as animal as Ronan, when they reach orgasm as Ronan fills them up with come. Ronan’s jaw releases and he licks the blood as it pours from the punctures. When it’s over, Stiles is limp against the floor.

It’s an endless amount of time with their face pressed to Ronan’s fur as Ronan tends to their wounds with his tongue before Ronan’s knot slips out of them. Ronan lays in the circle half on top of Stiles, panting. He presses his nose to Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles laughs softly. “Good boy,” they say again, scratching under Ronan’s jaw. “Aren’t you glad you came over?”


End file.
